We’re all in a state of shock and sadness due to the floods in Texas a week ago, resulting in more than 120 deaths (including almost 30 young girls and counselors at Camp Mystic). Of course, due to the shallowness (sinfulness?) of our current culture, already members of both major parties are blaming each other. When did flooding become a political issue involving blame? But, much as we saw recently with the unthinkable murders in Minnesota, we have sunk to a level where we even politicize grief? For those who think on a higher level, you are simply dealing with heartbreak. How could something like this happen? And, why?
Those are the natural questions we ask when tragedy comes. The human questions. The expected questions. The fires in L.A. The earthquakes in Haiti. The devastating hurricane that left parts of western NC almost unrecognizable. Yet another horrific school shooting. The staggering sound of words when spoken for the first time about a loved one or friend: cancer, dementia, paralysis, death. “How could something like this happen?” “Why?”
Our initial response when seeking to answer those questions is to find somewhere to place the blame. The enemy/bad guys did it (whoever “enemy” is to you). Mother Nature did it. Human greed or irresponsibility did it. Criminals did it. A lifetime of unwise choices did it. Poor advice did it. Chemicals did it. My neighborhood did it. My upbringing did it. Moral weakness did it. A tempter in the Garden did it. It’s a long list, and often an accurate one at any stop along the way. Frequently, when none of those answers quite work, we say “God did it.” Remember when insurance companies used to refer to natural tragedies as “acts of God”? And at the very last, if all else fails, sometimes we even confess that we did it … or, at least, were contributing partners. “How could something like this happen?” “Why?” “Who or what is responsible?”
A difficult (because it sounds too stoic, and most of us are uncomfortable with stoicism – it defies our desire to be in control) but honest (because it states the way things are in life) place to land is the conclusion that the world is imperfect. As I sometimes say, “This place is good for the moment, but it ain’t Heaven.” There will be wars and rumors of wars and illness and loss and heartbreak and broken relationships and failed businesses and family estrangements and floods that crash through safe places and destroy innocent lives. The entire history of humanity has been written, among other things, with bloodstains and tears. This place is good, but it’s not Heaven. That, however, is also an inadequate answer – just as much as seeking to place blame – because it leaves us stranded in the same desert of sadness where we were when we asked “Why?” to begin with.
Maybe the question is not “Why” but “What.” If we could explain exactly why a tragedy occurred, it would not bring back a single life. Nothing would be changed. Perhaps the deeper questions are: “What can I do to help those who hurt?” “What lessons can I/we learn to avoid a repeat performance?” “What resources do I have at my disposal to get me through this valley of life’s shadow?” “What awakening has occurred within me because of what I have just observed or lived through (what re-defining of my worldview or priorities)?” Even, “What do I make of God in all this – the enemy who made it happen or the ally who will help me survive it?” As you know, all this is called “theodicy” (which basically means, Why do bad things happen to good people?). The work of theodicy ultimately always dead-ends with the response, ‘We really can’t know why.” That leaves us either in a dark and depressing wilderness OR on a new road to a place called “New Normal,” a road that begins with the question “What?”
This world is not Heaven. Okay. What can we do to make it a less hellish?